


A Bonding Experience

by SailorChibi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff, High School AU, M/M, Omega!John, Omegaverse, Sherlock On a Case, Teacher-Student Relationship, Technically John is underage, dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-23
Updated: 2012-08-23
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:11:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has infiltrated a school of alphas and betas, posing as a Chemistry professor, for a case. John is a beta student at the school... or so he thinks, until the day he presents as an omega in Sherlock's class.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bonding Experience

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock belongs to Moffat, Gatiss, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
> 
> For a [prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/19743.html?thread=120204063#t120204063) on the BBC kink meme.

This... was... _intolerable_.

Sherlock Holmes - a.k.a. Professor Sherringford House for the time being - ground his teeth together in an effort to keep from losing his temper. Were all teachers this ridiculously stupid? No wonder most of the teenagers and adults he ran into were idiots if these were the kind of people teaching them. He stared down at the book in his hands, some ridiculous fantasy thing Lestrade had shoved into his hands earlier that morning, and made a concentrated effort to ignore the insane chatter going on around him. Lestrade's warning still rang in his ears, after all, and he was determined not to give the man any extra fodder.

Still. It was becoming markedly more difficult by the minute to pretend that he wasn't annoyed by the people around him. The English teacher was addicted to crisps. The gym teacher was having an affair with the English teacher, who was also having an affair with the French teacher. Three of the teachers smoked, and another half a dozen were doing drugs. He eyed one of the women standing near the far window and silently amended that to seven doing drugs, though from the looks of it she was a recovering addict who was trying hard not to slip. Oh, and the man she was talking to liked to dress up in female clothing during his spare time.

"So, are you ready for your first day?"

It took him a moment to realize that he was being spoken to. "Yes."

Sadly the man didn't take the hint and thrust out a hand. "Harry Equerry. Pleased to meet you. I'm the other Chemistry teacher for the lower grades. I'll show you to where your classroom is if you like. Best to get there before the kids."

If it would get him out of this damned room, Sherlock was all for it. He stood up smoothly, tossing his book on the table, and followed the man out of the room. He kept a sharp eye out as they walked the halls, but nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. Which meant, really, that something was going on and it was just a bit better hidden than most. Excellent. Maybe this would prove to be a worthwhile venture after all.

"So you're an alpha."

Sherlock looked at the man sharply. Harry must have possessed a keen sense of smell to be able to sense that behind all of the inhibitors he had been taking. "And?"

"I'm a beta," Harry said. He looked curious. "Usually they don't allow unbonded alphas to teach."

"Special case," Sherlock said shortly. "Is this my room? Thank you." He swept inside, closing the door firmly behind him before Harry had the chance to say anything else, and looked around. It was an average sized room with several polished metal tables, each sporting school-grade chemistry sets. Sherlock prowled the room. Much as he hated the thought of being here, he supposed that it would do for the week. It wasn't as though he had to stay here for any longer than that, and possibly even less.

He moved back to the desk at the front of the room just as the door opened. A young man stood there, blue eyes wide in surprise. Sherlock cast an assessing glance at him.

“Are you the new professor?” the boy asked.

“Do try not to ask idiotic questions. It gives me a headache,” Sherlock drawled, reaching the front of the room in half a dozen long strides. There was a book of lesson plans on his desk and he picked it up under the illusion of flipping through it. The boy hesitated for a moment before he entered the room, leaving the door open behind him, and walked over to one of the tables. Interestingly enough, he chose one that was closer to the front of the room than the back.

“How long are you here for?”

“One week.”

“Just a week? I thought Mr Knight was going to be out for the whole month.”

“They’re bringing someone new in next Monday,” Sherlock replied. Inwardly he shuddered at the thought of being trapped here for a _month_. He wouldn’t be sussing out a drug ring by that point; he’d be a part of it. He glanced at the boy. There was no point like the present to start finding out information. “Brother or sister?”

“What?”

“Your sibling.” And then, as the boy reached into his pocket to pull out his cell phone, he added, “No, never mind, I can see it’s a sister. You’ve hurt your shoulder playing a sport, likely rugby, and though the wound is healing it still hurts. You also hurt your leg and because your shoulder still hurts, you expect your leg to hurt, causing you to limp even though it’s not really necessary. You’ve contemplated joining the army but since you’re a beta you’re not sure that you’ll be accepted. They’re pushing for alphas, not betas like you, particularly small ones. You also don’t know if it’s safe to leave your sister alone for that long and judging by the fact that you have traces of polish on your fingers, she’s younger than you.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “So you’re thinking about becoming a doctor instead but you’re leaving your career choices open until you decide what you really want to do.”

The boy’s mouth hung open even as he flushed and curled his hands into fists. “How did you...?”

His question was cut off by the sudden arrival of a couple more students and the boy fell silent. Sherlock stood at the front of the room and watched as more teenagers gradually trickled into the room in groups of threes and fours, until finally there was a class of about twenty-five students staring back at him. 

“I’m Professor House,” he said coldly. “I will be here for one week. Open your books to page seven.”

It was immediately obvious which of the students were actually interested in the course and which of them were only there because they had to be. By the end of the hour-long class, he had confiscated four cell phones from people who had been trying to text while his back was turned (idiots, he didn’t need to be able to deduce to know what they were doing as soon as he turned around) and had earned quite a few dirty looks by assigning an essay on what the class had gone over that day. It gave him a bit of ruthless pleasure to know that someone else’s day had been ruined. If he had to suffer, so did they.

Still, it hadn’t gone as badly as he’d thought it would. It was relatively easy to stand at the front of the room and talk. The hard part would be when he actually had to let the kids at the chemistry set. Sherlock knew exactly what could be done with those because he had done most of it when he was younger. Unfortunately it was unlikely that any of them were smart enough to know how to create a toxin.

“Professor House?”

He turned and spotted the blond boy from before lingering in the doorway. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to ask... how did you know that stuff about me?”

It was rare that anyone stuck around long enough to ask. Sherlock said, “Your cell phone has a pink cover on it. Not the colour any teenage boy still in school would be likely to choose. That indicates a hand-off, likely from a close relative. That’s a new phone, a kid’s phone, so your sister. When you set down your backpack two forms fell out of it; one for the army and one for medical school. Both were partially filled out in different pen colours indicating you started and stopped, meaning you weren’t sure about your applications. I can tell from your scent that you’re a beta so the army was obvious. As for your leg and should, you limp when you walk but you balance yourself perfectly when you stand with no sign of pain. You winced when you put your bag down but you also looked resigned, indicating that the pain was one you were used to.” He nodded at the boy’s bag. “You have a patch for your school’s rugby and football teams.”

The boy just stared at him, mouth open slightly. “That was amazing.”

Pause. “Really?”

“Yes. I’ve never seen anyone who could do that.” The boy grinned and hefted his bag higher on his shoulder, the one that wasn’t wounded. “One thing, though. My sister’s older than I am, not younger. She’s just good at suckering me into things.”

He was gone before Sherlock could respond, leaving Sherlock staring blankly at the door.

\---

By the time that John Watson had got to be about fourteen years old, he’d accepted that he wasn’t going to present as either an alpha or an omega. It happened; much of the world’s population was composed of betas, and it probably wouldn’t have bothered him at all if he hadn’t remained so damn small. As it was, some of his mates complained about not having become alphas, a few were mortified that they were being sent off to the special omega school, but for most of them, including John, life continued as normal and he’d never really given the whole alpha, omega and beta thing much thought outside of what it would mean for his future in the army until the day he met Sherringford House. 

There was just something about the man that would have screamed alpha, except everything about House was just too classy for a raised voice. He had a commanding presence that demanded attention from anyone who happened to be in the same room. And he was bloody brilliant. He knew the answer to any question that he was asked when it came to chemistry. More than that, it was obvious that his intelligence wasn’t just because of books. John would never forget the way House had looked at him and just... _known_ so much about him. Sometimes he could still feel the intensity of that burning stare. It even invaded his dreams at night and for the first three days that House was at the school he woke up with damp sheets and flushed cheeks, his body trembling with the memory of long, cool fingers, a warm tongue and silvery blue eyes framed by black curls that seemed to stare straight into his soul.

He tried in vain to shake the lingering memories off as he got out of bed and had a long (cold) shower. By the time he got out he was running late, and he had just enough time to make sure that Harry was still breathing. She was passed out face down on the sofa and the room smelled so heavily of alcohol that John couldn't help making a face. His stomach twisted as he leaned over her and nausea forced him to hold his breath as he placed two fingers on the side of her neck, feeling for a pulse. It took a very long minute but finally he found it, the slow pulse reassuring underneath his fingertips. He backed away, one hand cupped over his mouth, and made his escape.

The cool morning air was a blessing. He breathed in deeply and wiped the sweat off of his forehead, rubbing his belly with his free hand. The nausea had abated somewhat but he could feel cramps forming. It hurt and he winced as he hefted his backpack higher onto his good shoulder and started walking. It wasn't food poisoning - he hadn't eaten anything outside of the norm during the past few days - so maybe he was starting to come down with something. He didn't get sick very often but when he did it usually took him down and out for at least three or four days. He hoped that wasn't the case; life was complicated enough without adding something like that onto his plate.

"Hey John!"

John looked up, startled, and realized that he was much closer to the school than he had thought. One of his friends was waiting outside of the gates, cigarette held casually between his index and middle fingers. He ambled closer and tilted his head in greeting. "Hey, Mike."

Mike Stamford looked at him with a faint frown. "Jesus, John, you look awful," he observed, taking a drag. "Maybe you should go home for the day. I could tell the profs if you're not feeling well."

"No, it's fine," John said, drawing his sleeve across his forehead again. He felt flushed and warm in spite of the cool breeze. "I just feel kind of hot, you know? It's probably just because I woke up late this morning and had to hurry. I'm sure I'll feel better soon."

"If you're sure," Mike said, shrugging. He tossed the cigarette on the ground and stepped on it. "Just don't collapse in the middle of class. I can't imagine Professor Wilson would take that very well."

"It's almost tempting to try it." John smirked. Professor Wilson was notorious for being one of the worst teachers that had ever graced the halls of their school. No one liked him and the feeling was mutual. He idly rubbed his stomach and added, "Besides, we've got that lab in Chemistry today. I won't have the chance to make it up, either. Tomorrow is supposed to be Professor House's last day."

"Right, right." Mike nodded and clapped John gently on the shoulder. "Well, nothing for it but to do it."

Easier said than done. John tried to focus during his first class of the day, he really did, but his mind kept wandering back to Professor House and his dreams no matter what he did, and on top of that annoyance he kept feeling increasingly ill. Halfway through the class he had to take his jumper off because he couldn't stand it any longer. The wool was itching against his arms and neck. He felt better once it was off, but he couldn't shake the feeling that taking _all_ of his clothing off would've been best of all. But, of course, that was ludicrous, and he dug his fingers into the desk and resolutely tried to ignore it. Maybe he should go home, he thought, staring out the window. Whatever he had seemed to be getting worse by the minute.

By the time the class was over, he'd decided to stick it out through Professor House's class and then go home and hopefully back to bed where he would be able to sleep it off. He mopped at his brow again as he stood up and picked up his backpack. It was odd, though: he was clearly sick and yet he didn't feel tired the way he normally did. In fact he felt strangely energized, like there was an electric pulse thrumming beneath his skin that was making him feel on edge. He shifted uneasily as he wove his way through the crowds, heading for the Chemistry classroom. Something clearly wasn't right but as long as he could make it through this one last class and save his grade, well, then he could go home and strip naked and do whatever it took to beat this flu.

All of his plans went awry the moment he entered Professor House’s classroom.

There was a strong smell in the air, he noticed immediately. Chemicals, yes, this was a chemistry lab, but they were even more pungent than usual. Nicotine, faint, but there, and he could also smell... his nose twitched involuntarily, nostrils flaring as he struggled to place the myriad of scents. Honey, he thought, and tea, and something that smelled vaguely familiar, like the stuff his mother used to use on her violin. Rosin, he thought it was called. Someone jostled his shoulder and John stumbled, his eyes flying open, and he realized with a flush of humiliation that several of his classmates were staring at him. His cheeks coloured and he walked quickly to his desk, sinking down into the seat and hunching his shoulders. 

Professor House stood up from his desk. "Today we're beginning a lab. Try not to burn anything down," he said lazily, sweeping a hand towards the board. Detailed instructions had already been written out. "Get going."

"Want to be my lab partner, John?" 

John turned his head at the question. Sarah Sawyer was standing next to him, a nervous smile on her round, pretty face. He smiled weakly in return and nodded. "Sure, why not?" he agreed, edging over to make enough room for her to sit down next to him. She slipped into the free spot, her hand brushing against his arm. Normally that would've been enough to make John edgy, excited with implication, but today he felt nothing, too consumed with the nausea and the heat to worry about a girl on top of everything else.

"D'you smell that, Sarah?" he asked her softly.

"Smell what?" Sarah tilted her head back, thrusting her pert little nose into the air. She sniffed a couple of times and then wrinkled her nose. "Oh, do you mean that bitter scent? I think it's one of the chemicals we're supposed to be using today. Smells awful."

That wasn't what John had been talking about at all but he nodded as if it was, not wanting to try to describe the scent, which was becoming stronger by the moment. He squirmed on the seat and wiped his forehead free of sweat for the third time. If this went on for much longer, his shirt was going to be soaked. He could feel beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck and soaking into his collar. It was massively uncomfortable and he couldn't resist unfastening the top two buttons in an effort to get a little air against his damp skin. Sarah looked at him in surprise and her cheeks flushed as her eyes lingered briefly on the little opening of skin before she looked hastily away.

"What shall we do first?" she said, her voice a bit higher pitched than usual.

"I don't know," John mumbled. The truth was more like he just didn't care. His stomach ached and he groaned quietly, dropping his head and shifting in an effort to find a more comfortable position. Much to his surprise, his cock was half-hard. He dropped the palm of his hand over the juncture of his thighs, realizing that Sarah's proximity must have been affecting him more than he'd guessed. That was the last thing he needed.

Sarah looked at him for a long moment, a frown tugging at her lips, and then she turned away, picking up two different vials. She began mixing them together slowly. John struggled to pay attention to what she was doing but it was nearly impossible. He blinked rapidly and then squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in shakily. What the hell was happening to him? His temperature felt like it was off the charts. He couldn't ever remember feeling this _hot_. It was agonizing. There was even sweat beginning to form along his arse; he could feel it trickling down between his cheeks, soaking into the seat of his trousers. His breath caught at the odd feeling and he clenched his hands tightly into fists.

"John."

The voice was deep, rough, and made every inch of his skin prickle with want. John looked up slowly into the eyes of his professor. House was standing right in front of him, staring intently, eyes unnaturally bright. The scent was even stronger now and John belatedly realized that it was coming from House, sweet and intoxicating, something he yearned to have more of. He had the thought that if he licked the man he might get to taste it as well and that was the most appealing thing of all. A whimper rose in the back of his throat and he leaned forward, unable to describe what exactly it was he needed so badly. 

House sucked in a deep breath and his eyes went dark, the pupils dilating. "Class is dismissed."

"What?" 

"What do you mean?"

"I've only just started!"

"Class dismissed!" House barked, and the amount of ire in his voice made it clear that he would not be disobeyed. John's startled classmates began packing their things together immediately, including Sarah, who cast a longing glance at the experiment before she grudgingly shuffled back to her desk to retrieve her backpack. She turned back to look at John, who hadn't moved an inch.

"Aren't you coming?" she asked.

"Mr Watson will be staying here to help me with something," House said. "Get _out_."

Sarah scowled but she went, and once she was gone House strode over to the door and locked it behind her. John closed his eyes and let his head drop down against the metal of the desk. His hips were moving unconsciously now, thrusting against the empty air, searching for... something. His trousers were past the point of dampness; he could feel them squelching every time he moved. The cramping in his stomach was finally beginning to ease, but it had changed into an odd feeling of emptiness in the very pit of his belly. It was uncomfortable and he didn't like it. He whinged again and didn't hear House approaching over the low, mournful sound, so he couldn't help jerking back when long fingers slid around his cheek.

"Don't," House warned, tilting John's face up. He was breathing hard, his cheeks flushed. "Don't fight me, John."

"What's happening to me?" John whispered. He felt like he knew, he felt like the answer was just _there_ , within his reach but lost to him through the thick fog of whatever this was.

"You've presented as an omega."

Oh, John thought, looking up into the man's face. Into the _alpha's_ face. The unbonded, strong, powerful alpha who was attractive and alone in a locked room with him and smelled so fucking good. Oh.

\---

Sherlock had sensed that there was something _different_ going on from the second that the class started. At first he couldn’t put his finger on it, but a few minutes of prowling around had easily allowed him to identify the issue. Namely, one John Watson, who was apparently presenting as an omega but had no idea judging by the fact that he had come to a school that was filled with nothing but betas and alphas, neither of which could be counted upon to control themselves around a fresh young omega that was entering his first heat. Or at least, Sherlock hoped the boy had no idea, because other he was even stupider than the rest of the students.

In less than five minutes he had the room cleared. He could see the realization dawning as a handful of them, the most astute of the lot, left the room, but he had the door shut and locked before anyone could really react. John was bent over his desk and, in all honesty, looked truly pitiful. Sherlock meant to get him out of the school safely but somehow he found himself cupping John’s cheek, his thumb tracing the edge of the boy’s cheekbone while John watched him with enormous eyes, pupils blown wide from the effect of his arousal, a pretty pink blush painted across his cheeks, lips parted slightly. Sherlock slipped his thumb down and traced John’s bottom lip. A small pink tongue came out to touch the tip of his thumb and he growled. John whimpered in response, lips closing around Sherlock’s thumb and suckling gently.

_Shit_. Sherlock shook his head briskly and pulled his thumb away from the warm, wet heat, realizing that he was succumbing to the effects of the heat himself. The temptation to strip them both naked, to taste John in every sense in the word, was overwhelming. He wanted to kiss John, to wrap his fingers around John’s cock, to part his arse cheeks and taste his core before burying himself deeply into that heat and fucking John until the boy knew who he belonged to, until everyone knew that John Watson belonged to Sherlock Holmes.

“John,” he rasped, forcing his hand back from John’s face. “I think you should leave. Through the window, now. I’ll call you a car that can take you home.” Mycroft would be watching, as always, and he would have the resources to make sure John got home safely. Sherlock hated depending on his brother but in this case he would make an exception.

“I don’t want to go,” John said. His blue eyes had taken on a hazy quality. “You smell so good, Professor.”

“That would be the hormones. My body is responding to your proximity and producing more of my scent to entice you,” Sherlock replied. Evidently it was working. “It’s simple chemistry.”

“I like chemistry.” John stood up, and although his legs shook underneath his weight he managed to stay on his feet. Slowly, he came around the end of the table. Sherlock had to bite back another deep growl when John’s scent struck him even more strongly than before. John’s trousers, he noted, were drenched with fluid. His mouth watered.

“John, you should leave. Now!” With effort, he looked away and moved quickly across the room. He’d left his phone on the desk, he knew. It would only take a few seconds to contact Mycroft...

That turned out to be seconds he didn’t have. John moaned and he had to, he just _had to_ turn and see the reason why. What he saw froze him on the spot. John was standing where Sherlock had left him, his shirt now fully unbuttoned. Even as Sherlock watched, John pulled the shirt off and let it fall to the floor. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving, as he started unfastening his belt. He thumbed his trousers open and let them slide from his hips with a low, strangled sound. He looked up and stared straight into Sherlock’s eyes as he slipped his boxers down his legs, leaving him standing completely naked in the middle of the room.

“Please,” he said. “It hurts, Professor. Can’t you make it stop?”

Well. Sherlock could be the good, law abiding adult, but only to a certain point, and apparently his point was a young omega in heat that was basically begging to be fucked. In two long strides he was standing in front of John and his hands came up to grab John’s shoulders. The heat pouring off of his body was incredible; it was like holding onto a furnace in human form. John whimpered again at the touch and tried to press forward but Sherlock held him in place.

“Call me by my name and ask for it,” Sherlock said in a low voice. He couldn’t take his eyes off of John, off of every sinfully attractive inch of John’s body, from his cock to his nipples to the scar on his shoulder. He wanted to consume every inch of John until there was nothing left for anyone else.

“Please, Professor House, _please_...”

“No, my name is Sherlock.”

“Sherlock.” John swallowed hard, his lips forming the syllables slowly. “Sherlock, please. I’ve been dreaming about you, about this. I can’t take this anymore. It’s driving me mad, this feeling; it’s the worst thing I could have imagined. It’s going to consume me unless you make it stop. Please...” He squirmed and this time managed to move so that their bodies were aligned. John tilted his head up and breathed, “I want you to _fuck me_.”

There was nothing he could say to that, Sherlock could only act. He dipped his head and caught John’s lips in a furious kiss. John melted against him from the force of it and willingly allowed Sherlock to plunder his mouth for the first few minutes. Gradually, as he became more aware that he was going to get his desperate wish, he rose to the occasion, kissing Sherlock back. They duelled furiously before Sherlock tipped the battle in his favour by cupping John’s arse with his hand. His fingers slipped easily in between and found their way directly to John’s slippery, wet hole. John broke the kiss to cry out as Sherlock’s fingers slid into him, breaching his entrance easily and spreading him apart.

“Oh fuck,” he whined, squirming and struggling to press backwards. 

“You’re so wet,” Sherlock said, unable to keep the note of wonder from his voice. Information he’d learned about omegas and their heat was tumbling through his mind, and some very distant part of him noted that John was actually average in terms of lubrication, but for the first time in his life he pushed that all aside in favour of following through on the demands of his body. He ducked down and pressed his lips to John’s shoulder, nibbling and sucking at the sensitive skin as John whimpered. 

He trailed slow kisses across John’s chest until he got to the boy’s throat. John helpfully tilted his head back, baring his neck for Sherlock’s perusal. Sherlock latched on, suckling hard as he gently pumped his fingers in and out of John’s body. John was so hot inside, his core burning and aching for something only Sherlock could provide, so _hot_ and _smooth_ that Sherlock rumbled and sucked harder until John yelped. He kept the pressure up for another minute before pulling away and directing a pleased look towards the red mark that had been left behind, one that would soon deepen into a deep purple bruise that would look so inviting on John’s lightly tanned skin. He’d never seen the point of leaving marks behind before, but now he did. It was extremely satisfying to know that John would have something physical to let everyone know that he belonged to Sherlock.

“John,” he breathed into the boy’s ear. “I’m going to fuck you. You’re going to be mine. No one else will ever be able to touch you. You will belong to me, my omega. Only mine.” He punctuated his words by spreading his fingers and then twisting, searching for that one little spot. He knew he’d found it when John yelped and went up onto his tiptoes. His cock jumped and sent a splattering of pre-come all over the front of Sherlock’s trousers.

“Yes,” John said breathlessly. “Yes, I want that. I want to be yours. I want to stay with you.” He groaned and struggled against Sherlock’s firm grip, needing more... anything, it didn’t matter what as long as Sherlock was the one to provide it. “Sherlock, please, stop teasing me. I can’t take it.”

Sherlock was tempted to tease a little more, but his own cock was straining and he felt the consuming desire to take John before any other alpha had the opportunity to. Reluctantly, he pulled his fingers out, savouring John’s little whine of protest, and began taking his own clothing off. Once he realized what Sherlock was doing John began to eagerly help, though his fingers were shaking so badly that he could barely fit the buttons through the holes. 

“Bend over the desk,” Sherlock ordered, fighting with his belt. The clasp finally gave under his impatient hands and he practically ripped his trousers and pants off. John’s eyes focused immediately on his cock and he swallowed hard as Sherlock promised, “I’m going to fuck you raw, John Watson.”

\---

Jesus Christ. It felt like all of the air in John's lungs had been squeezed out and now he was having trouble getting it back. Professor House's - no, Sherlock, he reminded himself, and he would have to remember to ask why the hell the man had been using a fake name when he didn't feel like he needed to be fucked or risk expiring on the spot - _Sherlock's_ eyes were penetrating him so deeply that he felt the touch all the way down to his soul. It was like Sherlock could see everything about him, like he had no secrets he could hide, and he didn't know whether he should find that desirable or terrifying. He shivered, unable to turn away even though his body was demanding that he present his arse to be well fucked immediately.

"Bend over the desk," Sherlock said again, his deep voice rough and commanding and so easy to listen to. And just like that, John found he could move. He twisted away, walking on unsteady legs towards the large wooden desk at the head of the room. It was covered with stuff and he hesitated, thinking briefly that some of it was likely expensive and should be moved with care, but Sherlock came up behind him and with one sweep of his hand sent most of it to the floor, leaving a bare surface for John to stretch over.

He obeyed at last, leaning forward until his hips were braced against the front. There was a bit of a ledge, meaning that he had enough space to curl his knees under a bit so that his cock wasn't mashed up against the hard surface. He braced his upper body with his elbows, trying to breathe steadily. His heart was pounding as he tried not to think about the picture he must be presenting, especially when Sherlock's foot nudged in between his own and pressed his feet apart. John obligingly inched his legs apart and tried not to whimper when warm hands touched his thighs, helping him to spread. He could feel himself blushing as more liquid spurted from his entrance and dribbled down his thighs and calves, soaking into a small puddle around his feet. Anyone else would've thought that he had pissed himself. 

"Sherlock, please," he said, hanging his head. The sound of the desperation in his own voice was mortifying, but he honestly didn't know how much longer he could take this. The painful cramping in his stomach had settled, changing into something that felt more like a desperate emptiness in his backside. Every movement, every heartbeat, reminded him that he was waiting to be filled and the fact that he hadn't yet actually hurt. He whimpered out loud this time, clenching his hands into fists.

"I know what you need, John. Relax. I'm going to give it you," Sherlock breathed into his ear, the warm gust making John shudder as Sherlock stepped closer. The heat of his long body sent John into overdrive and he ground back against Sherlock, struggling to press his hole against the tip of Sherlock's cock. A deep chuckle made Sherlock's chest rumble as he caught John's hips and prevented him from moving. "You're so wet right now. I can feel it. You've drenched both of us, John, that's how ready you are. Would you like to be fucked? Would you like to be bred, John?" One hand slipped around, palming his stomach. "How would you like to be full of my seed?"

"Yes, please, yes," John agreed eagerly, squirming helplessly. "Yes, please, I want that. Anything, Sherlock, yes!" A small voice in his mind was pointing out that actually John wasn't so sure he wanted children, thank you very much, but awash in the powerful hormones, John couldn't listen to it. 

"That's right. You're _mine_ ," Sherlock hissed, backing off just enough so that he could grip his cock and direct it against John's entrance. He slipped the head up and down, making sure that it was covered in as much as fluid as he could get. John moaned and wriggled, trying to push back, and finally Sherlock gave in, allowing the tip to breach John's body. He stared down into the space left between them, fascinated by the sight of his cock disappearing into the eager body in front of him, and when he spoke his voice was hoarse. "Fucking hell, John, you have no idea what this is doing to me."

"Then show me!" John begged. It was a little like torture to have what he wanted so close to him, but be unable to do anything about getting it. It felt fucking amazing to have even a tiny portion of Sherlock's cock inside of him, but it wasn't enough. The yawning emptiness inside of him only seemed to be magnified and he let out a desperate sob.

Sherlock growled low in his throat at the distressed sound his omega was making. Smoothly, still holding onto his cock at the base, he began pushing forward, sliding into John inch by inch. John gradually grew quiet as he was filled, the only sounds in the room their ragged breathing and the soft squelching sound as Sherlock eased his way into the virgin hole. When his hand touched John's buttocks he took a deep breath before releasing it and pushing in the rest of the way, until the only part of him on the outside was his knot, which was beginning to swell. He remained there a moment, relishing in the way that John was shuddering beneath him, before he reached down and slipped his arm around John's chest, pulling John up so that they were back to front.

"No one has ever touched you this way, have they?" he murmured, his tongue darting out to taste John's neck. It was pleasant, sweet almost, and he hummed, nipping at the skin. "I can tell you're not a virgin. The thought of sex with me didn't bother you even before your heat took over. But no one has ever had you like this." He twisted his hips to make his point and John cried out, writhing. "No one has ever claimed you."

"I... I've had sex with a couple of girls," John gasped out. He felt better able to think, slightly, now that he'd been filled. "And one boy. It was never like this." He brought his hands around and held onto Sherlock's hips, closing his eyes. "You're the only one."

Liking the sound of that, Sherlock bit lightly on the side of John's throat, over his collarbone, and sucked hard until the taste of copper filled his mouth and John was shuddering in his arms. Then he repeated his action on the other side, leaving two swollen bite marks on either side of John's neck that would begin the mating ritual, a sign that John had willingly submitted to him before Sherlock took what was his. Only then did he pull out and slide back in, establishing a rhythm that had John pushing back for more. 

"More! More, fuck," he pleaded, shaking his head. God it was so good. He wasn't the only one with experience, evidently; Sherlock was hitting something inside of him on every thrust that was making sparks light up behind his eyes. He allowed Sherlock to push him forward so that he was leaning over the desk again as the alpha began to pound into him in earnest, his balls slapping against John's arse with every harsh thrust. John's hands scrabbled across the desk for something to hold onto as the pleasure swelled, beginning like a filmy little ball inside of his tummy and spreading, little tendrils fizzing through his blood until it felt like his entire body was seizing up. "Sherlock... I'm..."

"Yes, I know." Sherlock leaned down so that his chest was resting against John's back, pinning him to the desk. It was a bit more awkward to thrust like this but it put him into position for the final stage of the mating process. He could feel his orgasm cresting and he knew that John was close. He growled low under his breath and pushed forward, using the momentum built by his legs to force his knot in past John's sensitive rim, locking the two of them together. At the precise moment that both of them peaked he sank his teeth deeply into the back of John's neck, directly in the middle of the space between the other two bites. John arched and wailed, his semen splattering against the desk as Sherlock filled him with shot after shot of seed. 

John was shaking, his head hanging low, body trembling uncontrollably. He was vaguely aware of Sherlock's wrist sliding over his mouth and nose so that he could imprint on the man's scent and he latched onto it greedily, smelling and tasting a scent that was undeniably _Sherlock_. It already felt like that scent was a part of him and he knew that he would never be able to forget it, even if he wanted to. Sherlock's other arm was wrapped tightly around John's waist, keeping him in place as Sherlock orgasmed for a second time. John moaned softly around the skin in his mouth at the warm feeling filling him up inside as Sherlock nipped again at the mark on the back of his neck. 

A third orgasm went through Sherlock and he groaned, wishing that there was some way he could press even closer to John. As it faded he opened his eyes, knowing that was it in terms of orgasms, which meant they would be knotted for about ten to fifteen minutes. "Alright?" he asked, his chest heaving. John had gone strangely still beneath him.

"I'm fine," John muttered, finally turning his face away from Sherlock's wrist. Now that the haze from his heat had temporarily passed, cold reality was setting in on him. What had they done?

\---

Within a handful of minutes, Sherlock could feel his mind beginning to clear from the barrage of hormones. If he’d had the ability to at that moment he would have gladly kicked himself. As it was, he was still firmly knotted to a young omega - his _mate_ , and he didn’t even want to think about the conflicting emotions that word brought to the surface - and they wouldn’t have long before the desires of the heat overtook them again. Whatever they were going to do would have to be done quickly.

He wrapped an arm around John’s waist and pulled him up into a standing position, then took a step back from the desk, bringing John with him. It was awkward to move with the two of them pressed so close together but his back was beginning to ache from leaning over the desk. There was a chair behind him and it was easier, all things considered, once he was seated with John in his lap. John squirmed around a little, testing the strength of the knot, and then subsided with a sigh when he realized he wasn’t going to be going anywhere until his body was down with Sherlock’s cock.

“I’m not going to get pregnant, am I?” he asked suddenly. He sounded horrified by the prospect.

Sherlock sighed. “92% of all omegas become pregnant from their first mating. The statistic rises to 96% if the mating occurs during their first heat,” he said. And then, before John could become any stiffer, he added, “Fortunately I take a special pill of my own concoction that effectively renders me sterile. No matter how fertile you are, it won’t make a difference.”

John slumped against him. “Oh thank god.”

“Indeed.” Sherlock stared down at John’s neck, more specifically at the bite marks he’d left behind. Already they were beginning to darken into bruises. The one on the back of his neck was meant just for Sherlock, a symbol of their bond, but the ones on either side would still be visible if John put his shirt back on: a warning to everyone else. He liked the thought of that.

“Who are you?” John said. “Why were you using the name Sherringford House if your name is Sherlock?”

“I’m a consulting detective from London,” said Sherlock, having expected this question. “My name is Sherlock Holmes. I was asked to investigate a drug ring at your school, which I did, and catch the perpetrators, which I have. It’s being carried out as we speak.” Literally, allowing for the extra few minutes it would take for Lestrade to obtain a warrant. He chafed at the fact that he was in here instead of being out there, helping to catch the criminals. “I would have left after today.”

Whatever John was going to say in response to that was never voiced, as at that moment the swelling of Sherlock’s knot finally eased enough that he slipped out. John stood up immediately and made a disgusted face when semen gushed out of him, spreading down the backs of his thighs in a wave. He wriggled at the weird sensation. Sherlock watched this with an amused smirk, not willing to admit that he actually found it extremely hot.

“So we’re mated now,” John muttered, scrubbing his hands through his hair. He rubbed his face and repeated, “We’re fucking mated. God, I didn’t even know I was an omega an hour ago.”

“It’s rare for an omega to present so late, but not unheard of,” Sherlock pointed out. 

“Well that’s just… bloody wonderful.” John sighed. 

“John…” Sherlock stood up and looked at him awkwardly. “I realize that this isn’t the situation you might have hoped for.”

“You think?” He twisted around and caught sight of Sherlock’s face. “Look, I’m just… It’s a bit of a shock. It’s going to take me some time to get used to it. I suppose, all things considered, I should be grateful that it was you and not one of my classmates.” He shuddered at the idea. “Where did you say you were from?”

“London. I have a flat there.”

“Oh, well, that’s… that’s nice. I’ve always wanted to live in London.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John felt his mouth twitch. Perhaps it was just hysteria, but he suddenly found himself laughing, and a moment later Sherlock joined in, his deeper voice mixing with John’s higher-pitched giggles. Neither of them heard the door open over the sound of their combined laughter (and it was, Sherlock discovered, a surprisingly nice sound), but it was impossible to miss the exclamation of surprise.

“Jesus Christ!”

John jumped and spun instinctively to face the people standing in the doorway. There was an older man with hair gone completely silver, a woman with dark curly hair, and the principal. All three of them were watching, mouths open, and John flushed when he realized that both he and Sherlock were completely naked and that the evidence of what they had done was, well, evident. But before he could even think about rectifying it Sherlock was moving, plucking his Belstaff coat from the hook in the corner and draping it over John’s shoulders as he stepped in front of him, shielding John from further view.

“What the hell have you done this time, Freak?” the woman said.

“I should think, Sally, that even you would be able to figure it out.”

“Children,” the man said wearily, “please. Sherlock, we brought you in to solve the case, not to… to bond with one of the students!”

“I’ll have you in prison for this!” the principal added.

“Unlikely,” Sherlock said coolly. “The law protects against cases where the minor is an omega who agreed to the mating before it occurred, especially in cases of heat. Even if I was arrested and charges were brought against me, which I sincerely doubt considering that a conviction would mean separating us which would prove detrimental to John’s health, the chances of them sticking are slim to none.” He smiled unpleasantly.

“Watson isn’t an omega,” the principal exclaimed, staring between the two of them. From the way his fingers were twitching, he would have liked nothing more than to tear John away from Sherlock, but he didn’t quite look like he dared. Getting in between an alpha and their omega was always a poor decision at best.

“And that proves that you are an idiot if you honestly can’t tell that yes, he is.”

“Alright, that’s enough. Mr Simon, thank you for your help. Sergeant Donovan will escort you back to your office. I’ll take it from here.” The man gave the woman a look and, although she frowned, she obediently ushered the sputtering principal away. He turned back to face Sherlock and John and shook his head. “Bloody hell, Sherlock, really? An omega?” He reached out to put a hand on the doorframe. The action swayed him forward slightly, his body stepping just an inch or two closer, and Sherlock tensed immediately. A threatening growl rose in his chest and the man froze immediately.

“Don’t come in, Lestrade,” Sherlock warned.

“I’m not. I won’t. I don’t have… you know I’m already bonded.” Lestrade put his hands up in a placating matter regardless, edging backwards so that he wasn’t technically in the room at all. “Come on. You two can’t stay in here forever. I’ll drive you back to London.”

London was over an hour away. John felt his stomach sink at the thought. He knew he’d never make it. Already he could feel the familiar, jittery burn making its way through his insides; his entrance squeezed, thighs twitching, like his body was trying to prevent the remainder of Sherlock’s seed from trickling down his thighs in a thin stream, or possibly it was more of his own fluid, he couldn’t tell. He buried his nose in Sherlock’s coat, inhaling the comforting scent that had become a part of him, and squeezed his eyes shut, shivering in spite of the warmth. A hand touched his shoulder and he looked up into Sherlock’s face. He had to fight against the urge to fit himself against Sherlock’s body, which was so close that he could practically feel the heat. Sherlock nodded, suspicions confirmed.

“Just take us to the nearest hotel,” he said over his shoulder, grabbing his trousers. He pulled them on and fastened them shut, not bothering with the belt or a shirt before he glanced back at John. This would be difficult, no doubt, but perhaps it could be made to work. “Coming, John?”

John nodded eagerly. “Oh _god_ yes.”


End file.
